HD 'Belling Draco' 8 in 13 Nights
by tigersilver
Summary: AU; EWE; Artist stellamoon created this incredible image, Draco and the Lion Tamer    and perfectly inspiring. So, SQUEEEEE! Here goes: a little inner monologue from Harry POV.


**Title:** Belling Draco  
**Author:** **tigersilver**  
**Characters:** Harry/Draco  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Warning(s):** R  
**Word Count:** 850+/-

**Prompt: ** **hd_seasons** – 13 Nights of Smut, Prompt #8 (pumpkin patch; hiss)

**Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary:** **Artist** **stellamoon** created this incredible image, Draco and the Lion Tamer (.)  
recced at **crack_broom*** recently, and so perfectly inspiring for 13 Nights of Smut I can't begin to tell you! So, SQUEEEEE! Here goes: a little inner monologue from Harry's POV.

So, I'm writing you. Hope you don't mind it.

First off, there's Draco Malfoy. He's a handful, Draco is. A git, a prat, a toff, a real arse. Has a real arsehole, too, which is a wonder. Eighth Wonder of the World, more like. The way he clenches that around my dick is smashing. Not to offend, but you know. Who else am I supposed to talk over this with?

He's like a cat, Draco. Or rather, a big cat. A predator. You think you're safe, minding your own beeswax in the corridors, off to meals or lectures, and then he leaps. Pounces. So, in self defense ('Constant Vigilance!') I belled him. Made him wear a little leather collar, with a tiny silver bell. He's got it Charmed so only I can hear it. I think my dick is trained to spot it now—I'm always rock hard when he's anywhere near in shouting distance, now. Never goes the way you think it will, with cats.

I have to handle him carefully. He bites, you see, and scratches. I've these long weals down my back from him, and then dark marks all over (Ron won't even look my way in the showers, after Quidditch. Claims it leaves him queasy.) But I don't mind, so much. I've done more than the same to him. Fair's fair, you know?

The best, though, is when I've got him all to myself. I have to arrange these times—or he does. He's ferocious, Draco is. He eats me, all of me, and my dick ends up half way down his esophagus (another word for 'throat', Hermione says, and more exact) whenever he blows me. He blows me daily, so that's not so bad, is it? Better use for that pretty mouth of his than hexing me, _I'd_ say.

How do I feel? I don't know. Couldn't quite manage to wrap my head around it when it happened. Can't now, either. I've not a lot of experience, you see. He's only my third, and Ginny and Cho were both lame-ish in the 'getting one's bits off' department. Draco's a past master at that. Knows a lot of spells for it (I knew those Slytherins were up to something suspicious! If I'd only gone back to the Common Room again after that one time, we could've avoided a lot of pain and aggro, me and him!) But I like him. _Like him_ like him. That I know for certain. He's not so bad and he's very flexible, now that sodding broomstick's not up his arse. And I think he does, too, even though he's all prissy-pants and 'don't touch me in public, Potter!' Likes me, I mean. The same way I do.

Stupid. As if they all don't know. Everything, but everything I do is public property. They all likely know what sort of lube we buy and the size of the Muggle sheaths I insist on, even the poor profs. He hates those. Claims he's clean as a whistle ('I'm a Wizard, Potter!') but I don't trust it. I know my usual luck. It sucks eggs, and I'm not about to be done in by those Muggle STDs Hermione talks about. But that doesn't exactly stop us, either.

We did this thing, last night? Went out to Hagrid's old pumpkin patch on a lark, after curfew. There's this one huge pumpkin there; a real monster. So he spelled me up in this costume—hardly a costume, if a whip and top hat and bowtie and that's fucking bloody _all_ can be called a 'costume'! But his was better yet. His collar, of course, and these sheer black hose ('easy access' hosiery, too, and for the Witches originally, I suppose, like in the pervy ads in _Wicked Wizards_™!) and then these girly heels. Kitty ears and a dildo up his bum with a furry tail attached. That's it. Nothing else. Scorching!

Bloody fucking smashing.

I shagged him for hours. Near broke his back and mine. He did this 'hiss' thing he does—half pain, half pleasure; like Parseltongue—whenever we rolled off. Pumpkins are roundish, you know, so we did, a dozen times. Had to take a three a.m. bath in the Prefect's to clear off the seeds (broke a few, falling on them) and so forth, and then we also skived all our classes today, we were so bushwhacked.

But it was good. He's good. Better, actually. Playful. Can see the rather wild-arse funny nutter who came up with that stupid song about Ron, now. Laughs a lot more often than he ever did, that's certain. (Pretty when he laughs, too. He's just sort of fanciable, I'd say, all round.) Of course I didn't appreciate the whole Dementor thing when it happened and I'm not forgiving him that easily just because he's got a nice arse on him, but likely he didn't fancy the mud, so we're even, in a way. And he's for the better, for this happening between us. This...whatever.

So am I, for that matter. Good thing, yeah? Thought you might like to know that, actually. You only ever wanted me to be happy, and I've not forgotten that for a moment.

Cheers, Sirius! Where ever you are, I hope you're happy this Hallowe'en. I'm doing well, now. It's alright, really.

Your loving Godson,

Harry


End file.
